


Snowfall

by the_pen_is_mightier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Snow, Snowball Fights, Sweetness, They love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: It's snowing in Soho. An angel and a demon go out to enjoy it, though they're mostly enjoying each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 128





	Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Euny_Sloane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/gifts).



> This is fulfilling a prompt from Euny_Sloane: "I have been starting to picture Aziraphale and Crowley doing silly winter things: snowball fights, hanging lights on their cottage, joining neighbors for various winter celebrations, making a snowman." Hope you enjoy it!

“Crowley, look!” 

Aziraphale was at the window. Crowley raised his head from his position sprawled out on the couch - no easy feat, as his limbs were flung in every direction and at a few angles that shouldn’t be possible for a non-serpentine creature. He didn’t get a view of whatever his angel was looking at, but he did see Aziraphale - eyes lit up, smile brighter than stars. And that was an excellent view in its own right.

“What is it?” he asked, voice slurred with laziness. “M’trying to sleep over here.” 

“Oh, you layabout, it’s the middle of the afternoon.” Aziraphale turned to face the window again and Crowley tipped his head back, shutting his eyes so he could focus on Aziraphale’s voice. “You should come and see the street. The snow’s stopped, and everything’s still covered.”

It had snowed all yesterday and all through the night. Crowley hadn’t had occasion to be out in it; he lived here now, slept in Aziraphale’s bed - in Aziraphale’s arms - and spent most cold days relishing the warmth of the place. Aziraphale was always conscientious of Crowley’s comfort in his bookshop. Always kept it warm enough to grow tropical plants and to satisfy desert-born serpents. 

“I’ll look later,” said Crowley. “I’m sleeping.”

“They’ll have cleared the roads later. Oh, Crowley, it’s _beautiful._ ” 

Crowley felt his mouth curling into a smile despite himself. That breathy, awestruck voice, as though in six thousand years Aziraphale still hadn’t gotten used to new-fallen snow. _Love hath made thee a tame snake,_ he thought - those funny plays had really hit on something - as he kicked his legs out and maneuvered himself into a sitting position.

“This better be the best snow England’s ever had,” he said.

But when he reached the window, he found himself distracted. Because Aziraphale’s arms were abruptly around his shoulders, and his cheeks were inches away, practically begging to be kissed. And Crowley’s hands found themselves in a white cloud of hair, his arms wrapped snug around a wide and wonderfully heavy frame, and Aziraphale’s lips were suddenly soft and tender on his - and what in the world could be out the window that would be sweeter than this? 

“There,” Aziraphale murmured. “Look, Crowley, the sun’s coming out now.”

At last he turned. The sight was dazzlingly white; snow lay thick over the sidewalk, unblemished by footprints, and it hung heavy on shop fronts and windowsills and streetlamps. The sun had emerged from the thick white clouds above and glittered off the topmost flakes, making it look like the world was hung with tinsel.

“Pretty,” Crowley said, one arm still around Aziraphale, one hand gently rubbing his shoulder. 

“Nature wears white better than Heaven does,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley turned to grin at him. The comment had been thrown out so nonchalantly, so easily; that Aziraphale was willing to say such things without being drunk was its own special kind of miracle. Suddenly his laziness evaporated, and he kissed Aziraphale again on the nose. “Want to go out in it?” 

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll bundle up.” Crowley waved a hand and a coat appeared over his jacket. “That snow’s too clean for me - it needs a snowman. Maybe a couple. Maybe some snow angels too.” 

Aziraphale let out a little _tsk_ and touched a finger to Crowley’s hair. A woollen hat materialized around his ears. “If you want to bundle up, you ought to do it _properly,_ Crowley.” 

“This had better not be tartan.” Crowley felt at the hat; it was deliciously warm, but he refused to be associated with Aziraphale’s clothing tastes.

“It’s black, you old serpent.” 

They dressed. Crowley helped Aziraphale into his coat, fingers lingering on the buttons, wrapping Aziraphale’s fluffy scarf lovingly around his neck. They traded more kisses. It was really ridiculous, how little time they seemed to be able to go without kissing. In anyone else Crowley would have labeled the behavior ridiculously sappy. But then, no one else had a perfect angel to kiss. 

They held mittened hands as they ventured out of the bookshop into the snow. The cold blasted against Crowley’s face, but it was a clear, bright kind of cold, not the dreary dampness that set his bones shivering. Aziraphale pulled him through the heavy drifts and he stumbled along behind, grinning like a fool. They left deep tracks in their wake, disrupting the gentle snow swells, kicking up crystal mist. 

Crowley let Aziraphale go and snatched up a handful of snow, packing it into a hasty snowball. Aziraphale turned with difficulty in the snow and was perfectly positioned when Crowley finished - he flung the snowball and it hit Aziraphale in the chest, nearly knocking him backward.

_“Crowley!”_ Aziraphale feigned outrage. 

“Bet you can’t get a shot that good,” Crowley taunted. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, the sound echoing even through his mitten. A snowball twice as large as Crowley’s appeared in his hand.

“Hey! That’s cheating!” Crowley scrambled backward as Aziraphale flung the snowball - it hit the top of his hat, knocking it off into the snow. He grabbed it and rammed it back over his ears. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, you - you -”

“My most detestable adversary.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled as backed away, hands up as though ready to summon more snowballs.

“See how you like it!” Crowley conjured one of his own and took off after him in the snow; Aziraphale turned to run. 

It was hardly a conscious thing. As he chased Aziraphale down the sidewalk, he saw Aziraphale’s steps turn lighter and lighter, his boots beginning to skim the snow rather than sinking into it. His laughter echoed through the cold afternoon and Crowley was listening to it, and it seemed entirely natural that something white and ethereal was suddenly brushing up against reality behind him, and he was walking over the air more than the snow, skipping an inch above the flurries to outrun Crowley. And it seemed perfectly natural that Crowley was floating too, wind streaming through his half-corporeal wings as he ran to catch up. 

He threw himself forward and tackled Aziraphale from behind, arms flung around him to hold him as he fell. Aziraphale tumbled forward, back into the snow, pulling Crowley back down into the softness and landing on his stomach. 

“Gotcha!” Crowley crowed. 

Aziraphale shoved him off and turned around. His eyes had gained a certain bright determination. Crowley blinked as Aziraphale grabbed his hands, and then -

“Aziraphale!” 

He was yanked up into the air as Aziraphale flapped his wings, lifting up, up, past the other shops and to the level of the snow-laden roofs.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley protested, “we’ll be seen!”

“No we won’t.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his arms. “No one’s watching.” 

Crowley shook his head and then rested it on Aziraphale’s shoulder, laughing softly. “What are we doing up here? I thought we were supposed to be enjoying the snow.” 

“Let’s go to the park. I want to see if the water’s frozen.” 

Crowley kissed him, long and slow, there as they hung in the sunlit air. His lips were dusted with little snowflakes. When they broke apart, snow clung to his eyelashes, a drop falling down onto one of his cheeks. Aziraphale wore white better than Heaven, too. 

“Come on,” he said softly, leaning their foreheads together. “We’re being human, aren’t we? We have to go there the human way.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him as they sank back to the ground. 

They started up their idle chatter again when they started through the drifts. They didn’t hold hands, but they were side by side, their arms close enough to brush as they swung. Free to do as much or as little as they liked.

“We should invite Anathema and her friend over for dinner,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, I want to see how they’re doing over at Jasmine Cottage. See if Anathema’s tried any of my suggestions on witchcraft.”

“You know, it’s not _really_ demonic, what she does.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t compare notes.”

“Well, I’d like to discuss more of Agnes Nutter’s prophecy book with her - what a resource, having access to a family that’s dedicated itself to its interpretation.” 

“Sometime we should have Adam and his friends over too.”

“Oh, it would be splendid to have a little party. They’re just the thing to stave off the cold.”

“Really? I know something better.” And at that Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, hugging him close again. 

“Oh, _honestly._ ” 

If their feet were a little higher off the ground than they should have been, their footprints strangely light, well, that could be attributed to an unintentional miracle fairly easily. It was the rare winter, in years past, that their hearts had ever felt so light.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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